Trembling
by Gypsy Love
Summary: Ponyboy wants Johnny and is overwhelmed by his thoughts, kind of pre-slashy.


He comes over, that look in his eyes. I know without asking that he was beat, probably by his old man. That's who it always is. He's so quiet, but you know he's there. His presence has this way of radiating. But I'm trying to ignore it. What can I do about it? So I sit and watch T.V. and feel him near me, wrapped up in his jean jacket and dirty clothes, his hair jet black and messy greasy, falling into his eyes.

My brothers aren't as effected, I can tell as they do normal things, like read the paper and make supper. I should be doing homework, but I can't with Johnny so close to me on the couch, so close that I can feel the heat from his body, I can feel him trembling. He won't look at me, he won't look at any of us, not when he's running from his house and being hurt. I know it's a hurt that I can't fathom, can't imagine. I saw him get whipped with a two-by-four, I knew his dad would use the belt. I couldn't see any bruises but I knew they were just under his clothes.

So I watched T.V. but couldn't focus on it, I felt myself coming undone as I stared at his black sneakers and the worn out edge of his jeans. Little details, that's what always gets me. His eyelashes are long like a girl's and jet black like his hair and his eyes. His front teeth kind of angle toward each other, and I can see that scar that is high on his cheek, a jagged slash from that soc's rings.

I hold my breath. He won't speak, and I'm afraid to break the silence. I let the silly T.V. voices fill it for us. I want to touch his denim clad leg, I want to put my arm around his shoulders, I want to run from the room. I do nothing. I stay still, sitting beside him on the couch, listening to the sound of one of my brothers making supper.

Just by barely glancing at him I knew all of his emotions. He was despondent and sad, and under that he was angry, but it was an anger turned inward. That was why he said he wanted to kill himself. It always scared me when he said that, because I didn't know how I could live without him.

I could talk to him if I was brave enough, and I think, I wonder what's wrong with me. It's just Johnny. He won't bite me or anything. So he got beat today by his old man and I was probably the only one who knew it, because my brothers were oblivious. But I wanted to hear the scratched and broken quality of his voice, I wanted to hear the pain in his answers. Something in him being hurt drew me to him, made me want to protect him somehow, even though I knew that was impossible.

I couldn't even think of the most ordinary question to ask him, couldn't think of a way to break through his silence. I tried out different things in my head, like you might do when you're planning on calling someone that makes you nervous, rehearsing a little script in your mind.

I cleared my throat, my mouth was dry. I blinked, feeling the way my eyelids covered my eyes for that half of a second. Johnny was still beside me, hugging himself, his arms over his stomach. He was so skinny, his shoulder blades poking through his jacket. I could see the defined line of his jaw, I could see him swallow, his adam's apple bobbing violently with the motion.

"Johnny," I said, breaking the silence, my voice sounding loud to my ears. He turned to look at me, those large wide eyes looking on the verge of tears. He only looked at me, didn't say anything in response to his name.

I was overwhelmed in his attention, and I had nothing to say. I heard the oven door opening and closing, heard pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, heard voices on T.V. saying non-sensical things.

"Are you okay?" I said, before I could stop myself. Of course he wasn't okay. I just wanted to hear his voice, wanted to pull the words out of him. I could see his fingernails, all ragged and bitten down. Nervous habit. Nervous wreck.

A moment more of silence from him as he thought it over, his eyes blinking slow.

"Yeah," he said, his voice always deeper than I expect it to be, deeper than my voice was, scratched and damaged from pleading with his father not to hurt him anymore.


End file.
